


Woensdag 16:36

by Anonymous



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Dry Humping, Happy Ending, M/M, Soft Fluff and Smut, Straddling, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 05:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21440959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: What happened at the end of that clip, in another universe...
Relationships: Robbe Ijzermans/Sander Driesen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 683
Collections: Anonymous





	Woensdag 16:36

Sander already felt a little embarrassed about letting all that out. It’s usually a fifth or tenth date topic of conversation, his anxious mental state. 

But it just slipped right out this time, because Robbe has that effect on him apparently. Robbe who he really despised for lashing out and calling him a word he’d never had thrown at him before; Robbe who made his stomach turn in agony and rage when he just showed up outside his life drawing class as if nothing was wrong; Robbe who only had to mime a head explosion for Sander to know he had already forgiven him. 

Robbe. His moonlit dream. Maybe Robbe already suspected his mental illness. Maybe not. Either way, the way Robbe clings to him makes his blood rush. And Robbe’s hands simply don’t leave him, either playing with his fringe, caressing his neck, circling his waist, or pulling at his shoulders... and Sander can’t get enough. 

He tries to keep calm. Robbe’s already shown him the full extent of his fear - if their first kiss ended in the word ‘fag’ and an accusation of assault, what might something more lead to? If they share more than lips and tongues, will Robbe regret it? If they reach beyond waistbands and inhibitions, will Robbe wake up tomorrow and tell him he took advantage again? His excitement is tempered all the time by his apprehension. So Sander tries to keep calm. He leaves his hands on Robbe’s head or arms and kisses him sweetly, not expecting more. Not asking for more. 

Then Robbe sits up. Apropos of nothing, he swings a leg around and straddles Sander. 

‘Hey, hey, whoa, where are you going?’ Sander asks.

Robbe smiles, gently pats Sander’s cheek, and runs his hands down Sander’s chest. Sander leans up into it as Robbe settles on top of his most intimate place. He reminds himself to breathe slowly.

‘When did you actually fall for me?’ Robbe asks, his hands on Sander’s ribs now. Really need to breathe slowly now.

‘ _ Voor jou _ .’

‘ _ Ja, voor mij. _ ’

‘ _ Nee, nee, vóór jou _ .’

It’s not until Sander shows him the picture of the spray-painted truck that he believes him.

‘I saw you in the moonlight and that’s when I knew:  _ He is the one _ .’

If the smile on Robbe’s face could stay there forever, Sander would be a happy man. He’s given up on hiding his feelings, now. He didn’t allow himself to have them for so long, and now that they’re pouring out of him, he doesn’t want to put a stopper on them. So he’ll tell Robbe anything he wants to hear. Anything.

Robbe clearly no longer wants to talk. He leans down, legs still bracketing Sander supine on the bed, and cradles his head, leaving a long kiss on his lips. 

The thrill of excitement and disbelief hasn’t gone away yet. It shoots through his core, like his whole nervous system is a heartstring Robbe can pluck without even trying. Then Robbe starts kissing with real intent, a pleading, demanding means of asking for  _ more _ . It’s in every movement Robbe makes now. His fingers curl into Sander’s hair, his breath gets as heavy as his tongue, his thighs shake. Sander holds back, reminds himself of where this all led last time, and ignores the instinct to pull, grasp, maybe roll Robbe onto his back and press him into the bed. No, instead he lies there and lets Robbe take his time, kissing in return with as much restraint as he can bear.

Robbe’s hands move from his neck to his shoulders, up his arms. Sander has to hold in a deep-bellied groan when Robbe presses his fingers between Sander’s own, and then pushes their hands into the mattress together. His brows are pulled in so tight he’s giving himself a headache, but he doesn’t want to cross the invisible line with Robbe. He just wants to hold on as long as he can.

Then Robbe kisses along his cheek, his jawbone, and --  _ he knows the second before it happens  _ \-- behind his ear. Sander’s back arches. It’s always been his weak spot. 

Robbe leans back and smiles in wonder at him. ‘So that’s where it is, eh?’

But Sander can’t even look him in the eye. He can feel himself getting a semi and he’s afraid what Robbe will do when he feels it too.

Gleefully unfazed, Robbe moves his hips on top of him and Sander moves his hands to them immediately, silently begging him to stay still. But as he does, Robbe slightly misunderstands the gesture, and instead of stopping, he presses down a little bit. 

The pressure must be as nice for him as it is for Sander, because Robbe’s cheeks flush and he laughs nervously. He stops squirming. ‘Sorry,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, it’s ok,’ Sander whispers, holding Robbe’s waist. ‘If you like it, it’s ok.’

Robbe flushes more, misgivings written all over his face, but just as quickly it’s replaced by curiosity. He leans down and kisses Sander again, and Sander might just be feeling dizzy lying down. 

Words start to fade in his mind. All those thoughts he was so afraid of just minutes ago - they’re gone. He can’t remember anymore why he was anxious. His consciousness hums into white noise as Robbe presses down again, and Sander’s body lights up.

Their breaths get shorter. Robbe seems to be easing into his body, too, as he kisses Sander and lets out a moan. He chokes it back, but Sander puts a hand on his face and nods, letting him know that moans are ok, too. More than ok. 

Robbe sighs in response, kissing Sander with more intent, letting his thighs spread further as he presses down. 

This time, Sander knows Robbe can feel it. It’s unavoidable. And Robbe’s eyes dart up to meet his, full of surprise. 

‘You’re…’

Sander nods, and frowns at himself. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry if it’s--’

But Robbe launches forward and kisses him breathless, letting himself press down again, and again, and again. Sander can feel the sweat gather along his back, in his armpits, along the hairline behind his ears. It’s so much to feel Robbe like this, hard between them, blindly following what his body wants him to do. 

Robbe pants, ‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’

‘Just do what feels good,’ Sander says back, his eyes barely open, the rise and fall of his chest giving away exactly how turned on he is. 

Robbe risks a grinding motion now, and the breath catches in Sander’s throat. The pressure brings with it a deep, white-hot pleasure, which accelerates when he sees the look on Robbe’s face. 

‘You feel good,’ Robbe whispers.

‘Do me then,’ Sander gasps, leaning up to pull Robbe into him, a longing kiss on his lips and two clutching hands at his shoulder blades.

Robbe laughs a little at Sander’s desperation; Sander laughs too. But then Robbe pushes at his chest and gets him on his back again. Willingly, Sander lets Robbe take the lead, but he’s unprepared for the assertion of Robbe’s curiosity when he presses down again and stays there.

Then he starts these short, definite thrusts, barely moving on top of Sander, but enough that they stare at each other in wordless shock. Sander can feel how close he is by the unfurling waves of arousal pulsing out from his groin. He draws his brows together and hears himself make a long, pleading whine.

‘S-sander…’ Robbe moans.

Robbe’s hands look for Sander’s own, and he moves them to grip his hips. Sander’s chest feels tight when he realises Robbe wants him to amp up what they’re doing. He knows now how Robbe wants this to go.

‘You’re sure?’

Robbe nods and places his hands back on Sander’s chest, sliding up and down as he starts to press down against him. They both lose track of their thoughts, replaced entirely by the feeling of explicit, uninterrupted, absolute desire. 

The more Sander gets of Robbe, the more he wants. So he holds Robbe’s waist and grips it. When Robbe grinds down next, Sander pulls, and arches up into him. A dark maroon feeling fills Sander’s lower half. Robbe gasps. 

‘Do that again,’ Robbe sighs, licking along Sander’s sternum and up to his mouth.

Sander kisses him, revelling in the feeling of his tongue along Robbe’s, and the  _ sound  _ of it. It’s better and better and better with every touch. 

In his steady grinding rhythm, Robbe is getting closer and closer to the edge. Sander can hardly believe the fact that they’re doing this. He kisses Robbe deeper, moaning into his mouth, breathing hard and fast, his dick equally aroused and uncomfortable with the bare dryriding, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to tip Robbe over the edge he’s teetering on.

‘ _ Fock _ , Sander,’ Robbe mutters, his voice breaking a little. 

He’s doing those little thrusts again that drive Sander wild, and his eyes are squeezed shut. Sander wants to soothe him as much as stimulate him, so he quietly says, ‘That’s it,  _ schatje _ …’

Robbe whines, his thighs shaking, and increases his momentum, pressing down again and again, a wet spot appearing on his pants. It takes all of Sander’s self-control not to reach out and touch him there.

But Robbe beats him to it. He lets out the loudest moan yet, rubbing against Sander with profound need, and then, he moves his right hand to his groin and palms at his head. 

Sander knows it’s happening the second before it happens. He gets his mouth on Robbe’s neck, and bites gently through a kiss. He feels against his lips Robbe’s releasing groan, and the shivers rolling through Robbe’s body as he rocks through his orgasm.

It’s as Robbe sighs out an endearment, one he’s never called Sander before, that Sander’s suddenly overwhelmed by his own climax. It’s a piercing white feeling, one that drives the breath from his lungs, and somewhere in his peripheral senses he feels Robbe hug him closer. He can hear how loud he’s being but he can’t stop, and he knows his briefs are going to feel gross in a minute, but he doesn’t care. 

He pants out a broken sigh, and drops his head into Robbe’s neck. They hold each other for a while. Robbe keeps leaving small kisses along his face, and humming soft sounds of contentment against his shoulder. Sander runs his hands up and down Robbe’s back. It’s quiet as they calm down. But comfortable. Safe.

When he feels grounded again, Sander tilts his head up and checks in with Robbe. Robbe, who looks a little embarrassed as much as relieved. Robbe, who tangles his fingers in Sander’s ice-white hair and angles his head up. Robbe, who leaves a sweet kiss on his lips and whispers, ‘We made a mess.’

‘It’s gone cold and sticky for me now,’ Sander replies. ‘Is it cold and sticky for you?’

‘Sander!’ Robbe protests. ‘Why would you-- That’s so--’

‘Isn’t it weird how it’s really hot when it happens and then cold two seconds later?’

Robbe bats him away, yelling, ‘Stop! That’s so gross!’ while Sander yells back, ‘CUM! Robbe, I’m talking about your CUM!’

‘Shut up!’ Robbe hisses, as Sander pins him to the bed, ‘People can hear you!’

‘Trust me, they’ve heard us both,’ Sander says, before impersonating his own loud, beseeching moans at a bellowing volume.

Robbe clamps his hand over Sander and laughs, begging him to stop. Sander licks his palm and then licks into his mouth, blissed out and delighted that Robbe looks so happy. And that he feels so happy with him.

As they tickle each other and tease about who had the funniest o-face, Sander knows, he knows what he felt that night at the trucks was right. 

_ He is the one. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
